


How will I let you slip through?

by maxbegone



Series: Silver dreams bring me to you [1]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Husbands, Melancholy, Post-Canon, Recreational Drug Use, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28895595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxbegone/pseuds/maxbegone
Summary: He shrugs halfheartedly. “I’m not…I’m not good, Patrick. Not like you.”David wants to curl into a ball and shrivel up right here on the side of the road instead of looking at what his husband’s face is doing. It’ll be enough to kill him.And sure enough, it nearly is.“David,” Patrick starts, eyes brimming and then, in a voice he only uses in their most vulnerable moments, a broken, “Baby.”--A backhanded compliment from Alexis throws David for a loop, and now all he can think about is how he'll wind up with a failed marriage and breaking his husband's perfect heart.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: Silver dreams bring me to you [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2138886
Comments: 36
Kudos: 390





	How will I let you slip through?

**Author's Note:**

> I got this anonymous prompt on tumblr recently: "I was surprised no one on the show ever told David that he’d eventually get bored with Patrick and break his heart. It just seems like the kind of insensitive joke Roland would make, or like something Alexis might say in an argument."
> 
> What else is there to do besides run with it?
> 
> Title from When Am I Gonna Lose You? by Local Natives

“It’s really something, Dave! I mean, you and Patrick have been married for what? Three months?”

David keeps very, very still, holding out an overstuffed tote for Roland at arm’s length. He’s never been one to really humor the man’s talkative moods (and he has  _ many),  _ always throwing that responsibility on Patrick when it arose. But David doesn’t really have a choice in the matter right now.

He’s manning the store alone today. Patrick is off and likely entertaining Alexis if she’s not at the café catching up with Twyla. She’s only in town for a few days, and as much as David has missed her, he’s really looking forward to having his husband to himself again.

Apparently hosting family was a thing for them now, since they own a house. They can’t just make family stay at the motel, according to Patrick. It’s not like David would make the Brewers stay there when they have a lovely guest room in their home, but his family  _ lived  _ at the motel for the better part of three years. Why couldn’t they spend a few days there when they were in town? 

“We’ve been married a little over two years, actually,” David gripes, shaking the bag at Roland.

“Sheesh, has it really been that long?” Roland leans against the counter, sucking his teeth in a way that makes it impossible for David to hold back a grimace. Not like he’s ever been subtle. “It feels like just yesterday it was pouring and your dad was literally begging me to pull something together. I mean, I pretty much single-handedly saved your wedding.”

It’s taking everything in David’s power not to slam his head against the register and groan. “Okay, but you didn’t though. The whole town pitched in.”

“Yeah, but I was the one who ultimately gave the a-okay to use the town hall.”

David breathes out, a pressed noise low in his throat, and Roland just keeps on going.

“I remember turning to Joce that morning and saying, ‘Looks like it’s gonna be a washout!” He wheezes as he finally takes the bag from David, head shaking. “Nah, I'm only kidding! Although, they say rain on your wedding day is a bad omen, but I like to think it means that you and Pat can  _ probably  _ get through anything. Give or take.”

“Okay, I know this is meant to be sentimental or…something, but I really don’t need to hear a dissertation on Alanis’s hit from ’96,” David replies impatiently. “I have my own. Is there anything else I can help you with today, Roland?”

“I think I’m good,” he says, standing upright. “But if you have any of that ‘tea’ you used to carry a few years ago—“

“Ooh, no. We definitely don’t have that anymore.”

Roland shrugs nonplussed, heading toward the door with a wave. He leaves with a disgusting amount of foot cream, several jars of applesauce, and David, standing there a little dumbstruck.

Anything Roland says should be taken with a grain of salt, naturally. Like the  _ tiniest,  _ most microscopic of grains to the point that it shouldn’t even be measurable enough to bother him. But, of course, he’s David Rose, and his mind starts to wander the second he’s alone in the quiet store.

He goes through the last few hours of the day with knitted brows, refolding the soft throws on the back display table and doing inventory, turning Roland’s dumb babbling over and over in his head.

Rain. An omen. Okay.

David continues to think about it as he tosses a few skincare products in a tote for Alexis as per her request (and payment). He thinks about it as he locks up. And he thinks about it as he drives home. 

To his loving husband, his favorite person. The man who David will forever be grateful for.

But… _ rain.  _

It’s fucking bullshit, really.

Forcing it into the recesses of his mind, he pulls into the driveway, already itching for a hug from Patrick. People (Stevie) can say all they want about how they’re still in the “gross” honeymoon phase of their marriage, David truly does not care. If it means he gets a greeting better than that of a soldier coming home from war, he’ll take it.

The fan above the stove is on when he enters the house and something absolutely fucking  _ heavenly  _ is wafting in from the kitchen. David drops his bag on the bench, bending at the waist to undo his shoes as Patrick peeks his head into the foyer.

“Hi,” he beams, “welcome home.”

“Smells amazing,” David hums, kissing him. He leans back in Patrick’s hold to admire him. “Look at you in your little apron.” David picks at it. “Adorable.”

“Mm, I’m glad you think so,” Patrick rumbles lowly, leaning up to kiss David again.

“Aw, look at you two!” David immediately pulls back as Alexis breaks into their little moment. “How sweet is it that you greet each other like this after a long day of work!”

Alexis is leaning against the doorframe leading into the kitchen, a glass of wine balanced in her hands. She smiles at them sweetly despite the fact that David’s bitter about being interrupted and is shooting her a  _ look. _

Patrick steps away, slapping David’s ass and effectively making his face burn. Okay, his sister is  _ right  _ there. “Dinner’s ready,” he announces, hanging his apron up on the little hook by the pantry.

“What did you make?” He accepts a glass of wine from Alexis, clinking their glasses together.

“Chicken cutlets, a salad, and we still have some of Heather’s new peppercorn cheese from the samples she sent over.” Patrick maneuvers his way around David to grab three plates and carries them over to the island. 

David eyes Alexis at the mention of Heather, but if she’s holding any kind of discomfort, she doesn’t show it. 

They make idle conversation over the sound of cutlery on flatware, and David’s deep into his second glass of red wine when Patrick asks about the store.

“It’s still standing,” he replies with a tiny smirk. “But Roland did nearly buy us out of foot cream again.”

Alexis makes a slight gagging sound.

Patrick twists his fork idly. “That’s a great thing to think about over dinner, David,” he mutters tightly, shooting a weary smile his way.

“Well I had to think about it the whole day, so you're welcome.”

“And just before you ask — no, we really can’t limit the amount of product Roland can buy in a day.”

_ “Just  _ the foot cream,” he argues.

“Ew, okay, can we stop talking about foot cream please?” Alexis begs. “I think I’ve officially lost my appetite.” She makes a point by pushing her plate away, and Patrick makes a noise in acknowledgement.

“If we limit him, then we’d have to limit every customer, babe. It wouldn’t be fair.”

David hooks an ankle around Patrick’s, leaning his chin in his hand as he puts on his most persuasive smile. “Okay, but if we did then we wouldn’t have to order so often—“

“If you mention it one more time, we’re not having sex tonight.” David promptly clamps his mouth shut.

_ “Ugh!  _ Can you two not? I take back every nice thing I’ve ever said about you two. I’m  _ right  _ down the hall!”

“I know, it’s a shame,” David says, scrunching up his nose. “We’re still in the early talking phases of redoing the guesthouse so we can—“

“Ahh! Okay!” Alexis stands up, one hand up by her head and shaking, the other holding her glass of wine as she exits the kitchen. “I’m going to take a very long, very _hot_ shower.”

“You are  _ not  _ bringing red wine into my beautiful bathroom!” David calls after her, to which she responds with a distressed noise and downs the rest of her drink. She leaves it right next to the sink which - _ really? _

The two of them dissolve into a fit of laughter as she stomps up the stairs, and David’s forehead is pressed into Patrick’s shoulder by the time the bathroom door slams shut.

“You really want to redo the guesthouse?” Patrick asks once he regains his composure. “I thought you liked it the way it was.”

“It’s nice but it’s very plain, and we’d obviously need to convert the bathroom into a full. It would be beneficial,” he explains with a shrug. He tips back the rest of his wine, adding, “Especially when we have both our families  _ and  _ Stevie over. Or when we’re feeling adventurous,” he adds with a wink.

Patrick hums thoughtfully. “Okay, we’ll talk about it.” He kisses the corner of David’s mouth and stands. “But no more talking about Roland or the foot cream tonight, okay? That’s more than enough of him for one day.”

And, really, David can’t help but agree. Sure, they can’t limit Roland, but maybe David could offer his very professional opinion and  _ suggest  _ the amount he should buy at a time. He’ll figure out the logistics later because Patrick is right; have talked about that man too much for one day.

**

A peaceful Monday it is not.

But when are Mondays ever easy?

David had to wake up stupidly early to give Alexis a ride to the airport while Patrick opened the store (re: 7:00). They stopped by the café for coffee and a smoothie and so Alexis can say goodbye to Twyla, but the caffeine is barely helping as they drive toward Elmdale Airport.

He squints tiredly beneath his glasses, Alexis tapping away on her phone in the passenger seat beside him.

“You have your boarding pass?” He asks without looking away from the road.

“Yep.”

“And your carry on?”

“Yes, David.”

“And you’re absolutely sure your flight is  _ today  _ at noon and not three weeks from now?” David chances a glance.

“It’s for today, David. I triple-checked this morning.”

“Maybe you want to quadruple-check?”

“Stop! I’ve gotten better, David!”

“Okay,” he says, mocking her tone. “Because I don’t want to get a call from you in an hour if you messed up. You can call a cab and stay at the motel until you can get it changed.”

Alexis growls at him as she fiddles with the chain hanging off her phone. “That’s rude.”

“You can keep Stevie company.”

“Isn’t she away this week?” Alexis asks. “Some random person will be working the front desk.”

“It’s just some college kid,” David says without missing a beat. “Probably just as friendly as Stevie is at her prime.”

“That’s your best friend you’re talking about,” she replies wittily, “How would Stevie feel knowing you basically said she wasn’t friendly?”

“She’d probably agree with me.”

“M’kay. Fair.”

“Anyway.” David sighs, back twinging a little at how long they’ve been driving. He shifts in his seat. The airport is at least another fifteen minutes away, so he won’t be able to stretch his legs for a little longer. “What’s waiting for you when you get back to New York?”

She doesn’t answer, and for a second David thinks she’s fallen asleep, but when he looks over, Alexis is engrossed in whatever is on her phone. Her brows are pinched together as she reads whatever’s on her screen.

“Alexis?” He prods her. “Hey.”

“What? I’m reading.”

“And I’m your brother,” he argues, “You know, who you’re morally obligated to pay attention to.”

Alexis scoffs. “I’m not morally obligated to do anything. And it’s a work email. I’m setting up a brunch meeting with my team.”

Brunch meetings. He remembers those. Started at one o’clock and ended sometime after four, surrounded by copious amounts of breakfast food, gossip, and getting very little work done, if any. They were just an excuse to day drink. He’s still completely turned off by bloody marys, and it’s a good thing, too. Tomato juice.  _ Eugh. _

“Sorry, then. I was asking about work, actually. Kind of.”

David doesn’t need to even look at his sister. He can hear the confidence in her voice. “I have a really big project coming up that I’ve been put in charge of, and if it all goes well there could be a promotion in my future.”

Something tight pulls at David’s chest, and it takes a second to realize that it’s pride.

“I can’t tell you anything yet because of NDAs and stuff, but I’ll have you know that it’s the most exciting one yet.” She places a hand on his arm. “I’ll tell you about it the second I’m able to, alright?”

David smiles at her. “I’m holding you to that,” he states simply. When Alexis doesn’t remove her hand, even when he shakes his arm, he catches her smiling in some kind of way. “What?”

“Nothing.” Alexis gives an innocent raise of her shoulders, finally releasing her gentle grip. “I’m just thinking about how super cute you and Patrick are.” She brings her hand back just to tap him with a finger. “Look at you, David! You have your dream life and business. I’m seriously impressed.”

_ “Impressed?”  _ He repeats. “I don’t love how you just said that.”

“What? It’s not a bad thing!” Alexis twists at the end of her hair. “Our family lost everything, and you still managed to find the love of your life and build a business together because of it. And now you’re thriving as husbands in your cute little house!” If he wasn’t so adamant on not crashing, David is sure he’d look over to see a cutesy pout on his sister’s face. The thought is unsettling, really. “I just would have never guessed.”

It still doesn’t sit perfectly with him, but David takes it tentatively. Alexis’s compliments are only so forthright. “Thanks?”

“You’re welcome,” she says. “It’s just amazing how far you’ve come. Like, you and Patrick have officially been married longer than most of Taylor Swift’s relationships have lasted. And she’s had, like,  _ so  _ many. It’s like as soon as she gets bored, she’s onto the next guy. Kind of like how you used to be.” She pauses. “Then again, not everyone you were with was that great and you did have your intense and unsavory moments.”

“Unsavory?” He clips. 

Okay.  _ Okay.  _

Is Alexis insinuating that David’s going to eventually grow so bored of Patrick that he’ll break up with him? Or is she insinuating that  _ Patrick  _ will grow tired of David’s extreme tendencies and leave? David’s clearly the one with the train-wreck of a romantic history, considering all the people he jumped from before they met; just a warm body to sleep next to, barely a relationship when you scratched at the surface.

_ Fuck,  _ he thinks. If they don’t work out then it wouldn’t  _ just  _ be a breakup — they would have to file for divorce. And that’s terrifying.

David’s pretty sure his stomach just plummeted out of his fucking body.

He shakes his head stiffly. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He manages, keeping a white-knuckled grip on the wheel.

“It’s just that you can be a lot sometimes,” Alexis explains a little too nonchalant. Which - okay, David already knows he can be a lot. But that doesn’t make hearing it any better. “Whatever. It was supposed to be a compliment, so just take it!”

“It’s  _ barely  _ a compliment.”

“David!”

“Oh my  _ god!”  _ David nearly slams the breaks as he realizes he’s nearly missed the exit for the airport. He’s very close to seeing red and he’s beginning to wonder if  _ hearing  _ it is at all possible. “Alexis! Are you trying to fucking wind me up here?” He bellows, voice compact in the walls of the car.

“What are you talking about? I was complimenting you!”

“Yeah, well comparing me to a pop-country singer’s dating history doesn’t make me feel very confident in my own.”

“Okay, I’m not comparing you to her, David. I’m merely saying that it’s impressive—“

“Stop saying that my relationship with Patrick is impressive! You’re making it sound like you never thought we were going to last.”

“Excuse me, that is not true!” Alexis yells back at him, a V forming between her brows, and David lets out a huff. “I knew he was good for you the second I laid eyes on him.”

“No,” he shoots, “you thought he was good for  _ you  _ the second you laid eyes on him.”

“Well that was never going to happen, so who cares?”

“I do! I care! Because it’s my relationship, not yours! Patrick’s my husband and I would like it if you didn’t act like it’s such a fucking shock that someone asked me to marry them!” A ringing silence holds over them as they pull into the airport, and despite his rage, David keeps an eye out for Alexis’s gate. He’s more than ready to kick her out of the car at this point. 

“And it’s not like your dating history is much better,” he continues, unable to stop himself. “You went after every guy who looked at you the right way and dumped them as soon as the next idiot came along.”

“You know what? Fuck you, David. I was just trying to be nice and you spun it in a totally different way!” For a second, it looks like Alexis is going to open the car door while they’re still in motion with the way she’s gripping the handle, but she doesn’t. 

Instead, she pushes just the right button. Twists the knife just the  _ tiniest  _ bit deeper.

“The fact that you and Patrick have lasted this long  _ is  _ impressive, and I stand by that. You know why? Because I’m proud of you, and I know that Patrick will always treat you right. You had your heart broken over and over again, and now look at you! Just because you’re so insecure that your marriage is going to fall apart by your own doing does  _ not  _ mean you get to bring me down with you. If you really think you’re just destined to be tossed aside or something, then whatever. That’s on  _ you.”  _

With a little huff, Alexis finally does open the door, making David stop short. She gathers up her purse and her drink from the center console, slamming the door behind her, banging around again as she pulls her luggage out of the trunk, then slams that, too. She’s halfway to the entrance when she pivots back around, dress twisting with the motion, and wordlessly opens the back door.

Of  _ course  _ she would almost forget her carry on.

The door shuts one last time, rattling the car leaving David alone in an irruptive quiet. With tears already burning his eyes, he looks around, half-expecting the windows to be blown to pieces, glass everywhere from the impact of their fight and Alexis’s unwarranted strength. But each and every one is still intact.

David pinches the bridge of his nose, his stomach in knots no thanks to his sister for drilling yet another one of his deeply-rooted insecurities into his brain. One that he thought he’d buried deep,  _ deep  _ down.

First Roland’s crap a few days ago and now Alexis. At least with Roland, David was able to brush that off after a few hours; but with Alexis, it feels like a crater has formed around him.

Someone honks behind him and David jumps, putting the car in drive and pulling away from the curb.

He’s half an hour into his drive back home when he blindly reaches for his coffee in the cupholder beside him. Instead, he’s met with a cup in the wrong spot, his fingers brushing a straw. No pun intended, that’s absolutely it for him.

David’s full-on hyperventilating now, hot tears flowing freely. He needs to pull off somewhere before he crashes into an errant road sign or wandering animal.

He’s out of the car on shaky legs in an instant, running around to the trunk where his bag is stashed, along with his  _ For-Emergencies-Only _ Xanax that he was prescribed last winter after he spent two days in bed, unable to function. It was like an elephant was sitting on his chest and his heart had the same pace as a hummingbird’s.

He finds in the secret pocket where it always is, but before David’s able to uncap the bottle and dry-swallow it (because there is no way in hell he’s drinking his sister’s green smoothie), a bundle of brown paper catches his eye.

David moves it around carefully, unwrapping it to reveal the light stone-grey ceramic mug with the Rose Apothecary logo printed on it. Patrick had four made up as a present to David when they moved in, and after Alexis had voiced her love for them, he’d gotten her one as well in time for her visit. 

Because he’s a good and attentive brother-in-law.

But it looks like she’s abandoned it here.

David runs a finger over the black ink, tracing the letters and and the date beneath it; the day their store launched. 

David remembers the anxiety he felt all week leading up to it (not entirely different from what he’s feeling now); the coiling in his stomach nearly made him sick twice, and he was convinced that his hands would never stop shaking. It was a venture he never expected to last, despite his confidence in the plan he had.

But Patrick was there every step of the way. Though looking down at the mug, he realizes, painfully, that it’s fractured. The chip in the rim isn’t a tasteful imperfection from when it was made, a whole piece has come off along with its handle, likely from all of Alexis’s banging.

It makes the churning in his stomach a whole lot worse. It’s like it’s projecting bad luck, and David’s string just caught up with him through an inanimate object.

He resists the urge to throw it back down, instead wrapping the pieces up carefully in the brown paper in a feat that even a surgeon would deem impressive with his quivering hands. Once it’s safe in its wrap and carefully placed in his duffle, David glances at the discarded bottle beside it and pops it open. 

He dry-swallows it as planned and receives an unwelcome flashback in its bitter taste before gently shutting the trunk.

_ In two, three, four. Out two, three four.  _

David repeats the count five times, breathing in slowly until his vision is no longer clouded and feels just the slightest bit more human. He climbs back into the driver’s seat and pulls onto the road, numbly driving back to Schitt’s Creek with plans of curling up with the weighted blanket they keep at the bottom of their linen closet.

**

Needless to say, Patrick knows something’s off with David when he gets home from the store that evening to find him up in bed. And Patrick, bless him, doesn’t poke or prod or question. He just silently removes his jeans, the quiet  _ zrrp!  _ of the zipper the only indication before he crawls in behind him, wrapping David up in his arms and holding him close.

Patrick Brewer, with his strong, compact frame and loving hands does more for David’s spiraling than any amount of weighted blankets or benzos could.

If he only picks at his food that night, that’s one thing. If he takes longer in the bath Patrick draws for him, then well - that’s another.

The weight of his fight with Alexis has suitably exhausted him, and David finds himself sleeping for the better part of the next fourteen hours. 

He trudges downstairs the next morning in a hoodie and his comfiest joggers feeling a little hungover despite having not had a drop of alcohol. 

Patrick smiles softly at him over the rim of his mug, looking relieved to see him standing and it’s enough to make the dull ache in David’s chest ease.

Just a little.

“Doing okay?”

David shrugs, slumping onto a stool at the kitchen island. Patrick comes around, pressing a cup of perfectly prepared coffee into his hands. His lips meet his forehead, and if he had the energy he’d tell Patrick off. He feels gross and his skin feels oily; he hasn’t showered yet.

Not that it would ever stop Patrick.

“Do you want to tell me about what happened yesterday?”

“No,” he breathes into his cup, savoring the first dregs of caffeine. “It’s not important.”

Patrick doesn’t argue. He just mutters a soft, “Okay,” and walks over to the oven, pulling out a tray of those muffin tin eggs and setting them on the stove. He goes to wedge one out for David. “Bacon or veggie?”

“No.”

“David.”

David blinks up at Patrick blearily, heaving a sigh. “I’m not hungry.”

“Hey.” A gentle squeeze at his shoulder. “You have to eat, baby.”

“I will, just - not right now, okay?” David pushes back from the counter, turning to leave with his coffee. “I’m gonna shower. I’ll meet you at work.”

He doesn’t glance over his shoulder because he knows that if he does, he’ll only be met with a sad look from Patrick.

David takes his time showering, letting the hot spray turn his skin red and scrubbing the hell out of his arms with an exfoliator bar, as if he’s ridding himself of the very words Alexis had unceremoniously slapped him with not twenty-four hours ago.

It makes his skin raw, his upper arms tingling as he applies his serums and moisturizer, brushes his teeth and styles his hair just the right way. There’s a piece sticking up by his temple that David can’t seem to pat down, so he leaves it, even if it does make him look like he’s growing horns.

_ Maybe you are,  _ he thinks briefly before shoving that thought right out of his brain. He’s not evil and he is not turning evil just because he feels like shit.

David might not see himself as a nice person, but no way in hell is he cruel.

By the time he stumbles into the store, it’s a quarter after eleven. Patrick is ringing up a woman, chatting animatedly about whatever products she bought — David spots a candle and a bottle of lavender pillow spray that Patrick  _ swears  _ by on his most restless nights.

He deposits his bag in the back, careful not to let it drop too heavily; the broken mug is still in there. David isn’t sure if he’ll give it back to Alexis yet. He isn’t even sure when they’ll be on speaking terms again.

That, alone, sends a chill up his spine.

Maybe he’ll just glue the mug back together and give it to Stevie.

“Hey.”

David spins around to find Patrick holding back the curtain. “Hi.”

“I’m going to run across and get lunch for later. What do you want?”

What he wants is nothing, or to maybe scream really, really loudly, but David knows Patrick won’t stand for that, so he shrugs, nonplussed, staring at the wooden floor. “Surprise me?”

Patrick smiles, a little pinched, but nonetheless true. “Okay. I’ll be back in a few.” 

When he leans up to kiss him, David barely responds, still caught up in his head. Patrick gives his back a loving stroke and leaves.

Right. He’s at work. Get busy.

So David does just that, throwing himself into realigning the toner bottles that have gotten all twisted, making sure their labels are all facing the right way. A few customers pop in and out, but luckily none of them are really looking to chat; they know exactly what they want, so any conversation David has to have with them is minimal as they pay.

Patrick returns with a bag in one hand and a cardboard drink tray in another. He drops their lunch off in the back room, giving David all of six seconds to scrub a hand down his face before he bursts again.

“Tea,” Patrick says, holding a cup out for him and already sipping his own.

It burns David’s tongue a little, but he takes a few long drags anyway. Patrick’s looking at him sideways when he sets it down. “What?”

He nods at David’s right hand. “You’re not wearing your rings today.”

And, well. Shit, he isn’t. He remembered to put his wedding band back on after his shower, but his engagement rings are currently sitting in their dish on the dresser in their bedroom.

“Oh,” he whispers, wiggling his fingers around. “I didn’t realize.”

“David.” Patrick looks at him with furrowed brows and takes his right hand. He looks…sad. “You never forget them.”

Patrick’s right. He doesn’t. They’re like his armor.

Well, his silver ones were like armor. The gold ones Patrick slid on his left hand at the top of that mountain are beacons, symbols. They’re polished, always catching the light in the right ways. David wears them every day less because they’re part of him and more because they represent everything he is, everything Patrick sees him as, and what they are together:

Good, loved, and very, very happy.

He doesn’t feel much of anything right now.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out wetly, wiping at his eyes. “I’m really not myself today.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Patrick says, but it’s in no way demeaning or sassy. It just is. “Go eat, David. You haven’t had anything today. Please.” And David looks at him under his lashes. “For me?”

“Fine.”

“Thank you.” Patrick pushes him gently toward the curtain, pulling it out of the way so David can step through without consequence.

He sinks into a chair at the little round table they’ve stored back there and wedges open the carton box labeled  _ David  _ in Twyla’s neat scrawl.

What’s inside almost makes him laugh out loud and cry simultaneously. Almost. His lips quirk up, and for the first time in a day he gets himself to smile just a little.

David casts a look over his shoulder and there’s Patrick, back to him, the curtain still pulled open on its hook.

“Hey,” he calls, voice rough. “Mozzarella sticks?”

Patrick turns, face going from concerned to soft as a smile slides over his lips, too. “Figured you’d need them.”

_ More than you know,  _ David thinks. Who could have imagined that a deep-fried appetizer would be part of their love language?

“Thank you,” David whispers, and Patrick gives him a gentle, knowing nod.

“I love you.”

But, strangely, what is usually the easiest thing to say to his husband is suddenly the hardest. David swallows the lump in his throat, clearing it with a cough.

“Yeah,” he says instead, “you, too.”

**

For the next three days, David feels himself growing more and more distant, spiraling further.

Alexis’s words continue to ring in his head: 

_ Just because you’re so insecure that your marriage is going to fall apart at your own doing does not mean you get to bring me down with you. _

He’s barely slept, only picked at his food, and the last time he looked in the mirror his skin was so dull and sullen that David was sure a different person was staring back at him.

Alexis hasn’t reached out to him - no apologies, no middle finger emojis, nothing. David checks periodically, just to see if she’s texted, even though he put her on  _ Do Not Disturb  _ the morning after she left.

He knows he won’t leave her like that for long, he still worries about her safety. Old habits and all that. 

He hasn’t heard from his parents either, which is a good sign give or take. It just means Alexis hasn’t told them about their argument. He isn’t sure whether or not he’ll be shocked if he gets to Christmas without hearing from his sister. It would be so unlike them now for that to happen.

It’s whatever. For the time being, David’s going to stay mad at her and let the hurt that’s carved into his chest fester.

Even if several of his old therapists would say it’s an unhealthy coping mechanism. It’s what feels right, at least for now.

Patrick’s been tiptoeing around him since Monday night. Honestly, at this point, David’s a little surprised Patrick hasn’t sat him down and gotten him to talk. 

When everyone left just after the wedding, David fell into a depressive slump; he missed everyone, which he expected, but the amount of which he missed them all threw him for a loop. He didn’t know how to handle the kind of wishy-washy confusion between being so overjoyed at having a new husband, a new house, and missing his mother, his father, and his sister.

David had Patrick and Stevie, and they both helped in their own ways; his best friend with wine, cheesy movies and a spa day, his husband with sex, whispered promises and roaming hands.

He was back to normal at the beginning of October, but not without his sad smiles and occasional low moods. At least then he was an actual functioning human; he just wallowed around a little.

But Patrick has never seen David like  _ this  _ before. Withdrawn, skittish, and absolutely fucking terrified that Patrick is going to leave.

David snorts abjectly into his book where it sits propped-up on his knees.

Of course he’s distancing himself. It’ll just make it easier when Patrick inevitably gives up or realizes that there’s so much more out there for him than a tiny, podunk town and an over-emotional, intense husband.

When he realizes he didn’t have to  _ settle. _

David always expected this fear to arise, he just didn’t think it would happen two years into their marriage.

The bathroom door opens, and the man in question steps out. David’s heart thuds in his chest, equal parts love, longing, and sadness etched into its beats.

Patrick gives him that soft, downturned smile, one that David can never get enough of, as he climbs into his side of the bed. Honey-brown eyes are warm in the dim glow of the room, and Patrick’s hair is curling at the edges where it’s still wet. He smells like a mix of sweetness and spice from his shampoo, and David wants absolutely nothing more than press his nose into it and breathe in.

He resists, turning back to his book instead, trying to find the spot he was on.

He can’t - he  _ can’t. _

David’s rereading the same paragraph for the third time when Patrick sighs and takes his right hand, lacing their fingers together over the comforter.

It’s a simple thing, but neither of them do anything beyond that; David keeps his eyes trained on his book, staring at one singular word —  _ desiderium —  _ as Patrick’s thumb moves soothingly, back and forth against the hollow of David’s fingers and along his outer wrist.

There’s still space between them both, yet, and soon Patrick is moving to inch closer. Instinct tells David to move away, set his book down and turn off the lights for the night, but he complies, letting Patrick get a careful hand on his cheek.

The kiss is unlike the many David has had in the last few days; for one, it’s  _ real,  _ not rushed and forced-feeling like what he’s managed to give. Patrick’s kissing him like he’s been longing to do so for eons, not just days, and it sends his stomach into a knot once again. All of it just feels a little too sad. David tenses ever so slightly as Patrick licks at the seam of his lips, but like clockwork, David is opening his mouth to kiss his husband deeper.

If he were a stronger man, he’d push Patrick away and spill his worries between them on their beautiful comforter before things can get too handsy. If he was braver, less of a coward, David would list off every fear he has and ask Patrick to help navigate them.

_ That’s what marriage is supposed to be,  _ his brain supplies, effectively shocking him.

David gasps a little, jutting back but letting his nose still bump against Patrick’s.

“I-I can’t do this tonight,” he whispers into the thin space between them. “I’m not-I’m sorry.”

_ This is where he starts backing away,  _ the voice in the back of his head says.  _ This is where he realizes you’re losing.  _

But Patrick doesn’t move away. He doesn’t grumpily get out of bed, stomp down the hall and sleep in their guest room.

Instead he nods slowly, combing his fingers through David’s hair and says, “Okay. That’s okay.”

David doesn’t fall asleep with his head on Patrick’s shoulder. He doesn’t fall asleep facing him. He hasn’t for the last few nights. He falls asleep facing their closet doors hours after Patrick’s drifted off, his husband’s hand pressed into his hip.

His eyes drift shut at three in the morning, heavy and dry, every negative connotation he’s ever had thrown at him swimming around his head.

**

“Do you think you can tell me what’s up with you? It’s been nearly a week, David.”

He’s elbow-deep in dishes as he cleans up their late breakfast. He wants to say so much, to let Patrick know every stupid worry Alexis has made germinate, but instead he hesitates, swilling the brush around the bottom of a pan.

“I’m fine,” he grumbles, watching as suds go round and round. David can practically hear Patrick tense up behind him.

“You’re not fine. You’ve been detached since Alexis left.” A chair squeaks and Patrick comes across the kitchen on socked feet to get a good look at David. “You’re not eating unless I remind you to, you’ve barely looked at me let alone said anything to me unless it’s necessary in days.” Patrick sighs, a light, wet crackling in the back of his throat. “David did…did I do something?”

He drops the brush in the sink, heart shattering. “No,” he shoots back impatiently, “you didn’t do anything. I’m just…thinking.”

“About what?” David looks at him quickly, and then goes right back to scrubbing the pan again.  _ “David.  _ I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

“Patrick, I’m fine. I’m great. I’m wonderful.  _ Please,  _ stop asking me if I’m okay.” He bares a big, toothy grin, one that’s a little demeaning. It hurts David just as much as it appears to hurt Patrick. “Because I’m fucking fantastic.”

_ Another wrung.  _ He shivers.

Patrick goes eerily quiet. “Fine,” he says, raising his hands and backing away. “Fine, David. If you’re going to be so dismissive and not talk to me, then I’ll just stop trying.”

And well - there it is, isn’t it? David Rose, notorious for self-sabotaging everything good that’s ever happened to him, just made the first crack in the proverbial dam that will ultimately lead to his own demise.

Wonderful, he sounds like his mother.

Sooner or later Patrick will realize how much he’s been missing by being stuck with David, and because David will have nothing to offer, he’ll leave. And then the store will fall apart, and Stevie will kick him out of her life, and then he’ll be all alone and miserable just like he was meant to be…

Just like he always knew. 

_ Fucking Alexis. _

The metal jingle of keys by the front door makes David’s head snap up. “Where are you going?” He croaks.

“Jocelyn needs help with rehearsals for the musical,” he hears Patrick say quietly. “I’ll be back later.”

The door closes with a faint click. David chokes out a sob, hands prune-like where they’re gripping the edge of the sink. He sets the brush aside as he slides down the cupboards and onto the tile floor. 

His hands smell like dish soap and stale water has he sobs into them, temples aching as he heaves sputtered, disgusting breaths. David couldn’t care less about the state of himself right now. He’s alone in his dream house, having fractured his relationship because he’s too fucking selfish and afraid to be honest with his husband.

Patrick, who has never been anything but good to him.

But David’s apparently on a subconscious mission to ruin all of it.

Eventually, he gets to his feet, slowly working his way through the rest of the pans and flatware, leaving them to dry on the rack next to the sink. He makes nice with a set of depuffing under eye patches and stares at the ceiling of their bedroom for the twenty minutes he has them on.

While David would love to blast some melancholic ballad on repeat or watch a movie and light a fire, Stevie invites him over with promises of wine and weed. A lethal combination for his current state of mind and self-loathing, but highly needed.

It’s an escape, and the more David thinks about it, the more he realizes that he can’t just sit around at home twiddling his thumbs while he thinks up the worst possible scenarios. He needs to get out.

Stevie pours him a healthy glass once he’s settled — “Keep going, keep going. To the brim, please. Who the hell taught you wine service?” — and lights him up. David’s sure there’s a good chance they’ll both be singing along to Sarah McLachlan or Joni Mitchell within the hour, but he’s not entirely adversed.

He feels a little more himself with Stevie and to say it’s refreshing would be an understatement.

“Where’s your better half today?” She asks.

They’re sitting to-to-to on her sofa, blanket draped over them both as they pass a joint back and forth. Normally, David would be worried about ashes getting everywhere, even with the tray precariously balanced on the back cushions, but he’s all out of sorts this week. He didn’t even bother to properly fold the towels last night.

“He’s helping Jocelyn wrangle a bunch of teenagers,” he says in a false-chipper tone, waving a hand about. At Stevie’s look he adds, “Something about the musical. I don’t really know. He’ll be done in an hour.” 

“Uh-huh.” She raises her brows. “So you abandoned him to come hang out with me on a Sunday night. Thanks.”

David bites back the anxiety that’s rising up like bile in his throat and shakes his head. “Um, no, he…he’s busy. Also, I didn’t want to be alone.”

“Right.” Stevie eyes him in that way that makes David feel way too transparent. Granted, she can see through his bullshit from a mile away. She always has. “You good?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” David teeters his wine glass. “I have ‘Cab, pot, and you ordered a pizza. I’m great. Living the dream.”

“Because it kind of seems like you’re holding back on something. And you’ve never once said that you’re ‘living the dream,” she finishes, carving air-quotes around the words.

Fuck. “Well I’m not. When was the last time we hung out, just  _ us?” _

“Like, two weeks ago.”

“Yeah but,” David raises his glass a little higher, “like old times.”

“Again, two weeks ago,” she says, her eyes narrowing. “And then the week before that, Patrick got high with us.”

“Yeah, well, enough of that.” David takes a long drag from the joint and sets it back in the tray. He tilts his head back, an aromatic stream of smoke billowing up toward the ceiling. He’s grateful Stevie always remembers to remove the smoke detector.

He’s suddenly brought back from his drift by Stevie digging her feet under his legs, cold toes rubbing against his calf where his pant leg has risen up. “Ah, god! Are you a monster?”

She snickers, because enjoys torturing him, and picks up the joint. She takes a hit, then another, before she nudges David with her foot, still beneath him.

“Look,” she begins slowly, and David can feel his stomach sink lower in his gut. “All I’m going to say is that Patrick texted me to let me know he’s kind of concerned with how you’ve been recently—“

“Please,” he begs, “not right now.”

“He didn’t go into detail. You have to talk to him,” is all she says, shoulders dropping. “Patrick’s good, but he can’t read minds.”

_ No,  _ he thinks,  _ he can’t.  _ If he could, then there never would be a need for the hard conversations. 

Stevie doesn’t say much after the pizza arrives. She flicks on the TV and side-eyes David every few minutes. It’s creepy, really, how easily she can get under his skin, get right to the crux of the problem without even knowing what the problem even is.

Stevie just  _ does.  _

Having a best friend is something David doesn’t think he’ll ever fully get used to. Especially when his best friend is the menace known as Stevie fucking Budd.

Eventually, Sandy changes to one of the Julias and it gets to one last sappy love confession for the walls to finally collapse under the weight of his own doing. Stevie must sense it, too, because she mutes the movie, giving David her full attention.

“What if he leaves me?” David blurts out. His hands are shaking which - wow, not a good time. Never a good time.

“Who?”

“Patrick.” David sets his glass down on the coffee table, breathing unevenly. “Who else? He’s going to get bored of me at some point. Everyone fucking does!”

Stevie sucks in a breath. “David—“

“No! I mean it, Stevie! I mean—Patrick’s just tolerating me, right? And then one day,  _ poof!  _ He’ll be gone. And so will you! Either because you’ll side with him or you’ll wind up hating me for some reason.”

“That’s not true,” she tries to reason, voice stern and sarcastic demeanor melting away. “Patrick  _ loves  _ you. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“Okay yes, I know that. But I also…Part of me is saying that’s a lie? What if one day Patrick realizes that I’m not giving him what he wants? I was his first guy, Stevie.  _ I  _ was basically his sexual awakening.”

She squints at him. “So?”

“It’s not like he’s taken the time to explore other options,” David explains, a little manically as he thinks back to Ken and his squared-off pointy shoes and tight little shirt. And then of Jake, and  _ Patrick’s  _ tight little shirt. David saw all of these opportunities Patrick had to discover himself a little more, but decided not to.

“He chose you, David,” Stevie says, like she can hear his thoughts. “Why are you still so adamant on seeing if he’ll choose someone else?”

Christ, he’s seconds away from pacing. “Because he should know what else is out there for him. It can’t be  _ just  _ me, right? He basically settled for me. Patrick definitely has to be wondering—“

“Fuck, David! What if he’s not?” Stevie backhands his arm. “Are you kidding me? Patrick didn’t settle for you. He fucking loves you.”

“Right, but…” He breathes in, a hollow, airy thing. And then, so much softer, he continues. “I was always the guy that was dumped after whoever I was with had enough. Or if the booze was gone or they came down from whatever high they were on and realized that I was just an easy lay.” David laughs self-deprecatingly. 

He doesn’t see Stevie’s eyes filling up. He  _ doesn’t.  _

“Have we not had this conversation before?” She pries, nudging him with her foot again. “Those people were awful. You were surrounding yourself with the wrong crowd.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that I was too much.” David can practically hear one of his short-lived flings saying,  _ You’re so intense, man, calm down.  _ It still haunts him.

Stevie sits completely upright, shaking her head slowly. “The hell does that even mean?” 

“It means,” he begins in the smallest voice, “that eventually Patrick will realize that, too.” David pauses to swipe at his eyes. He glares into his wineglass where it sits just a few feet away, dark liquid catching in the light of the TV screen. “Or that I’ll do something stupid and break his heart. Stevie…I can’t do that. I can’t hurt him”

“So distancing yourself from him is the solution?” She’s staring at him with intent. “I don’t get why you believe you’re destined to be alone.”

David’s ears are ringing, not at all dissimilar to movies when a character’s hearing is dulled after a blast. It’s strangely the loudest noise he’s ever heard. It’s uncomfortable.

“Hey.” Stevie’s voice is soft, an all-too-uncommon occurrence. “I know the weed’s getting to you a little but, but I really do need you to focus on me for a second.”

David manages to peel his eyes away from his abandoned glass to look over at his best friend. She sets her own glass down beside his so she can grab his wrists fiercely.

“I don’t know what or who got this in your head, but you need to realize that Patrick isn’t going anywhere. And neither am I.”

He’d have to hear it from him.

“Yeah, you probably would,” she says and fuck, he said that out loud, didn’t he? “Yeah, you did.” She smirks a little. It’s comforting. “If you want to hear Patrick promise you that, then you’re going to have to actually talk to him. I know you two haven’t always been great at the whole communication thing, especially with big things, but I’d assume as a married couple that’s probably an important skill to have.”

David scoffs, just barely, yanking one hand from Stevie’s grasp so he can rub at his eyes. When did he start full-on crying? And when the hell did Stevie get so good at giving advice?

“So stop waiting for the other shoe to drop when it’s not. Alright?”

He groans, head tipping back toward the ceiling as he squeezes his eyes shut. The sofa creaks as Stevie gets to her feet. 

“W-where are you going?”

“To get you a tissue so you don’t use my blanket as one and to call your husband,” she says determinedly, without even turning around. “You’re not driving home like this.”

“I can just stay here,” he grumbles, but Stevie barks out a laugh.

“No you’re not. You hog the blankets.”

David laughs, it’s stuffy. “No platonic sleepovers?”

“Nope. What if I’m expecting company?”

“You’re definitely not.”

“No, I’m not.”

_ “I’m  _ your company.”

“Unfortunately.”

David goes to counter that point, but the words die on his tongue. Instead, as he sinks horizontally into the pillows, he says, “Please don’t tell Patrick about what I said.”

“And get myself into the middle of your crisis? Not a chance.”

“I’ll talk to him when I’m sober,” David mutters, mostly to himself, and it’s as good of a promise as any for now.

Stevie drops a box of tissues onto his chest, along with a bottle of water. He drinks roughly half of it before setting it down, capped, on the floor next to him. 

David isn’t sure when he drifts off, but soon enough he’s being shaken awake. He wants to swat away whoever’s doing it, beg for five more minutes, but upon opening his eyes he finds Patrick having above him, his soft smile greeting him.

“Hey,” Patrick whispers, “time to go.”

David’s guided out of Stevie’s apartment half-asleep, grumbling about his car which he’s told they’ll come back for in the morning. He throws a thankful smile over his shoulder at Stevie; if there’s one thing David can always count on, it’s that she’ll remain confidential.

Patrick helps him undress when they’re home, pressing a kiss to the back of David’s knuckles and his wedding band and all four of his engagement rings as he’s tucked in.

He knows he’ll be hungover in the morning, given the emotionality of it all. Even still, David settles in for the early night, nuzzling deep into the pillows as Patrick presses into him from behind. And for the first time in a week, he doesn’t move away. He sinks into his husband’s hold, feeling a little bit lighter. 

Maybe, just maybe, he’s sealed the crack in the dam. Just for now.

**

It goes on for another two days.

After the night at Stevie’s, David loosened up just a little. He became a little more affectionate, didn’t shy away at Patrick’s touch or when they kissed. Even their banter is coming back, volleying one joke to the other. But it’s a slow crawl and done with such a tentativeness that any outsider could see the strain from a mile away.

And neither of them start the conversation. It’s all too eerily familiar. They just smile sadly at one another when the moment feels heavy enough, careful caresses, silent assurances as if to say  _ I’m not going anywhere. _

Stevie only checked in on David with a thumbs up and a question mark, to which he replied with  **_we’re getting there._ ** It was the least he could say without fully tipping her off that they hadn’t spoken about it yet.

But the more he thinks about it, the more she’s right; communication is very important in a marriage. And clearly, they’re failing at that.

David could wallow longer — he’ll, he’s been known to, spending days, sometimes  _ weeks  _ feeling sorry for himself before he can regain some semblance of normalcy again. Hell, Stevie had to physically drag his sorry ass out of bed after that bomb with Rachel. 

But on Tuesday, he wakes up with slight determination. He’ll sit Patrick down today and talk about it.

They have to.

He turns over in bed, back popping along with his left ankle, groggily reaching out a hand toward Patrick’s side. He’s met instead with cold sheets.

David’s stomach flips, even as he repeatedly reminds himself of the facts: his husband is an early riser (annoyingly so), it’s his day to open, he’s probably in the shower.

He listens for the telltale signs of the water running, but there’s nothing. Focusing a little harder for a creak, the clinking of a utensil against a plate, the high-pitched whine of the kettle on the stove, David is, once again, met with silence. The house is completely still.

He breathes in sharply, reaching for his phone on the nightstand.

Patrick was holding him tightly when they fell asleep last night. He nosed that spot under David’s ear, hands clasped together, until they both drifted off.

The time on his phone blares back at him:  **_8:15._ **

Okay, sure. There’s a good chance Patrick’s already at the store. He’ll go in early on occasion. But…he usually tells David first. Kisses him awake, leaves him coffee,  _ something. _

But there’s no mug on the nightstand, and David doesn’t have any recollection of being woken up prior to this.

Patting down the anxiety, David extracts himself from the tangle of sheets, makes the bed routinely like every morning and hops in the shower.

Patrick isn’t in the living room or the kitchen when he finally makes his way downstairs, and he isn’t in the office when David pokes his head in. Breakfast isn’t wrapped up and waiting, the coffee pot is empty, and although David is sure he’s going to regret it in the process, the kettle on the back burner is cold to the touch as well.

His chest tightens for a moment, jumping back to the same conclusion he was trying to push out of his mind the second he woke up this morning.

_ Patrick left. _

Not that there’s any indication of him doing so. None of his stuff was missing, his overnight bag was still beside David’s in the hall closet when he grabbed a set of towels.

The knot loosens when he finds the note scribbled next to the coffee maker.

**_At the store x_ **

Okay, there it is, there’s the confirmation that Patrick’s only at work. Even the scribbled ‘x’ eases his immediate worries.

David brews his coffee, taking it and a book into the living room where he curls up on the sofa by the front windows. He breathes in the rich, comforting scent as he basks in the warmth of the sunlight. 

He gets about a chapter into his book before he hears Patrick’s car pull into the driveway, strolling through the front door and smiling when he sees David looking back at him.

That’s strange. Unless he missed something on the schedule, vendor runs don’t happen for at least another week and Patrick wouldn’t change something without telling him.

“Morning.”

“Morning,” David murmurs back with slight reservation. 

Patrick lets out a breath before he bounds up the stairs, returning a moment later with David’s bag clutched in one hand, his own in the other.

“Come on,” he urges, and David squints at him.

“What’s going on?”

“I closed the store for today. And before you say anything — I know. But I think you and I can use a day away from everything.” He shakes David’s bag for emphasis. “I think - I think that’s more important,” Patrick adds, and his voice catches.

David swallows thickly, throat suddenly very dry. He takes a long drink of his coffee and asks, “Where?”

“Anywhere,” Patrick breathes, like a promise. Like he’ll take David to the ends of the earth and back, no questions asked.

It’s a lot to think about, but David knows Patrick doesn’t make false promises. Even unspoken ones. 

Sure he probably doesn’t mean somewhere tropical or even Niagara, just a day trip. They really can’t spend too much time away from the store when they’re the sole employees.

Which, as much as it pains and scares David to do, it might be smart to start looking into hiring an extra set of hands.

“Anywhere?” David watches Patrick carefully. “Did you have something in mind?” He must have sneakily packed their bags when he was still asleep.

Patrick shrugs. “Yeah, actually.”

He waits for him to elaborate, but to no avail. David nods once, dog-earing his page and getting to his feet.

“Okay.”

**

They’ve been driving for a long time. Under normal pretenses (and during a time when David still isn’t completely focused on everything he’ll inevitably fuck up in their marriage), he’d be questioning Patrick by now:  _ Where are we going? We passed Elmdale, are we not going to Elmdale? Are we going to wine country?  _

They’ve both been silent the whole ride, David with his chin in his hand as he stares out the window, Patrick with the wheel gripped at ten and two, like a responsible driver. They made one quick pit stop at the café for coffee for the road (and a muffin — David hasn’t had breakfast yet), but otherwise they’ve been non-stop for a little over an hour.

“Is everything okay with us?”

It’s Patrick who says it. David isn’t sure if he should be surprised or not, but he turns his attention toward him.

His lips pull into a thin smile as Patrick meets his gaze out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah, everything’s great.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t sound convinced. Of course he doesn’t. “I just…I don’t like how we left things the other day, and I don’t like how quiet you’ve been. So I’ve been worried that I might have done something…”

“What?” David winces at the squeak in his voice. “No! Of course you haven’t.” He gets a hand on Patrick’s thigh and squeezes gently. It’s a casual move he feels like he hasn’t done in eons. “You’re doing everything right.”  _ You always do everything right,  _ he adds silently.  _ You’re perfect. _

Patrick’s lips quirk upward, sure, but he stays silent for a few beats. “You’re absolutely sure there’s nothing I could be doing better?”

“Yeah.” David turns back toward the window briefly, taking his hand back and barely giving himself enough time to register the words that fly out of his own mouth. “Am  _ I _ doing anything wrong?”

Patrick actually chuckles. “Of course not.”

“Okay, good. And you would tell me, right? If I was?”

“David, I promise you, you’re not doing anything wrong.” His hand comes over the console to scratch at the rip in his denim. “I mean, I would like it if you didn’t hog the blankets at night,” Patrick adds, laughing.

David breathes a little easier at the well-worn familiarity of their banter. It’s nice. Refreshing, even. “That’s just a battle you’re going to have to lose, honey,” he says in a gravelly voice. “I’m really sorry.”

“Good thing my wonderful husband loves to cuddle.”

Something pokes at David’s innermost self. Something sharp as it digs into the barrier he’s erected around himself this past week. He nibbles at his bottom lip.

“I haven’t been, though.”

“Been what?”

“Wonderful,” he murmurs, into his hand, turning away again. “Or good, even. Not this week at least.”

God,  _ fuck, _ why is he crying right now? David lets out a groan, head thunking against the window as he tries his best to stop the tears from spilling over.

“David?”

“Nothing,” he waves, “it’s nothing.”

“Talk to me.”

He clenches his jaw tight, humming out in the negative and still refusing to meet Patrick’s gaze.

But that’s the thing. David knows he should say something. He doesn’t need this drive to be filled with tension, wherever they’re going. A ditch, maybe, where Patrick will knock him out and leave him to suffer which, while it might sound a little dramatic, is probably what David deserves after being so horrible.

And then he hears it. 

_ “Oh.” _

It’s so small, the way Patrick says it, and he breathes it out so softly that David nearly misses the single syllable.

He’s about to wave Patrick off, clear his throat and let him know that he’s fine, but Patrick’s pulling off onto the shoulder of the highway. He turns the car off, unbuckles, and shifts himself to face David fully in the driver’s seat.

“Talk to me, baby.  _ Please.” _

“I don’t,” he starts, but the words get jumbled and caught around a growing lump. “I don’t want to drive you away,” he manages, picking at his cuticles and focusing his gaze at a small crack in the windshield. “I don’t want to break your heart.” 

Patrick doesn’t say anything. David doesn’t see him move in his periphery, doesn’t see him flinch either.

In fact, Patrick doesn’t move for a full thirty seconds, and when he does, it’s so he can get out of the car, a repetitive  _ ding  _ alerting that the keys are still in the ignition. If anything, David was almost expecting him to make a u-turn and head back home, realizing that whatever it is he had planned wasn’t for the best.

David stamps down that fear again. It’s like a magnet, honestly, constantly returning to its negative pole just to haunt him. 

Patrick comes around to David’s side, opening the door and reaching over him to undo his seatbelt before tugging David out of the car with him.

A bitter gust of wind bites at his cheeks as Patrick sets both hands on his shoulders and looks him right in the eye. “Talk to me,” he repeats.

“I just keep thinking about how you’re inevitably going to get bored of me and regret staying here when you realize there’s so much out there for you. And if it’s not that, then I’m so fucking scared that I’m going to do something terrible to you or wind up hurting you in some way. Because that’s all I ever seem to do.” He shrugs halfheartedly. “I’m not…I’m not  _ good,  _ Patrick. Not like you.”

David wants to curl into a ball and shrivel up right here on the side of the road instead of looking at what his husband’s face is doing. It’ll be enough to kill him.

And sure enough, it nearly is.

“David,” Patrick starts, eyes brimming and then, in a voice he only uses in their most vulnerable moments, a broken,  _ “Baby.” _

Honestly, the look alone churns something deep in the hollow of David’s chest — hurt, want,  _ something  _ almost too physical to bear. But Patrick’s hand comes up to scratch through the hair at the nape of his neck and it’s enough to soothe his frayed nerves.

“Start from the beginning,” Patrick whispers. He moves to press his face into the crook of David’s neck.

Sucking in a breath, closing his eyes and focusing very hard on the weight of his husband’s body pressed against his own, David brings his shoulders down from his ears.

“I’m the only guy you’ve ever been with and I can’t help but think that there’s a whole world of guys out there that you could have been better suited for. But now I keep wondering if you’re stuck here or you settled and I…I don’t want to be Taylor Swift.”

There’s a beat, then two, before Patrick snaps upright and lets out an incredulous laugh.  _ “What?”  _

Right. He should elaborate.

“Okay, I’ll explain…I just - I was always jumping around from person to person,” David starts lamely, very aware of how stupid this analogy sounds. “It’s only a matter of time before I do something and revert back to my old ways.” He meets his husband’s gaze, his eyes big and round and searching. Oh dear  _ god. _ “I was so fucking selfish before we moved here, and I don’t want to go back to the way I was before, but honestly everything feels like a ticking time bomb and when - when you’re  _ damaged goods,”  _ he winces at the words, old memories resurfacing, “you just expect the worst. Like, eventually we’ll get so used to each other that I’ll start overstepping again or waving off every idea you have because it doesn’t fit with what I had in mind. Or I’ll become too  _ needy. _ ” 

David turns away in time to add, “And then you’ll leave.”

He lets out a pathetic whimper, staring off at a farmhouse in the distance. David studies it, making note of the old wood siding and the patch in the roof that’s off in color where it’s likely been replaced, the garden leading up the pathway and a thin plume of smoke rising from the chimney. It’s been used, but it’s been loved, too, and cared for.

Patrick holds him tighter, and David follows suit, moving his fingers then his arms, securing them around Patrick’s shoulders. It’s steadying, anchoring him to the spot and he knows neither of them will drift away.

“David,” Patrick whispers into the space between them. “I will never get tired of you,” he assures, promises in such a way that David can suddenly breathe easier than he has in a while. “I don’t know what Taylor Swift has to do with anything, but we are  _ very  _ different.” Patrick gives him one of his serious, fond looks and says, “I married you because you’re the only man — the only  _ person —  _ I want to be with for the rest of my life. I married you, David, because you make me feel so sure about everything. And I hate to bring up you…wetting the bed—“

David tries to groan, but it comes out like a clogged honk.  _ “Oh, god…” _

“But not even that can drive me away. Okay?” Patrick kisses the corner of his mouth, then his brow, and then that spot on David’s neck he’s claimed as his before finally landing on his lips. “I love you. Nothing is ever going to change that.”

David tosses his head back, choking back a sob. “Fucking Alexis,” he grumbles, now moving to press his forehead into Patrick’s shoulder.

“Is that who started all of this?”

“Yes! But Roland wasn’t much help a few days before that claiming rain on your wedding day is a bad sign, but I curbed that before it got too far.”

Patrick sighs. “I don’t think you did.”

“Maybe not.”

“David, you have got to stop letting Alexis wind you up!”

“It’s what we do best,” he states simply, leaning further into Patrick’s hold. He breathes deep, the scent of his woodsy cologne easing every tense muscle in David’s body. “She knows which buttons to push.”

“You’re guilty of that, too, you know.”

David hums. “I thought you were on my side.”

“I’m always on your side, baby. Hey.” He jostles David upright, cupping his face in his hands. “What did she even say?”

“That we’ve been married longer than most of Taylor Swift’s relationships have lasted.” David raises a hand. “I know, I know. It’s stupid.”

“So that’s what you meant…” Patrick shakes his head. “Look, I’m happy you’re being honest with me now, but no more holing yourself up in your worries on your own. We’re navigating this marriage thing together. Okay?”

“Yeah.” And David cracks a genuine smile for the first time in a week.

He knows that Patrick was an arm’s length away the entire time, but that doesn’t change how hard it’s been for David to get to him. He’d completely shut him in the dark without an explanation, and Patrick had allowed him to do so, even if it pained him.

God, David has a lot of apologizing to do and maybe some thanking.

“I need to say something,” Patrick starts, his own voice catching. David watches as he blinks owlishly, slowly, and sucks in a breath. “Your past is your past and those people you were with were…David they were undeserving of you.”

Oh. Well, that’s a nice thing to hear. And not at all what he was expecting.

“They wouldn’t know a good thing if it hit them. And that’s  _ you.” _

And neither is that. “Wait—hit them?” Sure, there are a few — namely  _ one  _ person — he’s repressed the urge to punch, but that always felt like a lawsuit waiting to happen.

“It’s just a metaphor,” Patrick clarifies. “You’re good, David. You are  _ so  _ good. I need you to remember that.”

“O-okay.”

“And you’re good to me.” Patrick leans up, leans closer, whispering, “You’re so fucking good to me,” just as he catches David’s lips with his own.

Every ounce of fear he’s been harboring officially begins to slowly drain out of him as his husband kisses and licks at his lips. David feels like he’s finally, finally coming home and if he’s crying, then what can he really do? He’s missed Patrick despite the fact that physically he hasn’t been that far away.

David’s the one who distanced himself out of fear.

“You know you’re going to have to talk to Alexis, right?”

“Yeah,” he sighs deftly, letting go of Patrick so he can cross his arms over his chest. “I know.”

“And that talking to her sooner rather than later is the best option.”

“Yeah, yes, I’ll talk to her. Now can we please get back to wherever we were going?”

Patrick gives David one final kiss and heads back to the driver's seat, lacing their fingers together over the console the second he pulls back onto the road.

“Where are we going anyway?” David asks, admittedly curious. Now that he knows Patrick isn’t going to leave him for dead in a field of cows, not that he was ever going to actually do that, he’s feeling a little more excited about this spontaneous getaway.

“A hotel in Elm Valley,” Patrick replies, smile widening. “I thought we could use a break from everything. Go to a nice restaurant, walk around a town we don’t see every day.” He shrugs. “It’s just for one night.”

He’s not sure he will ever get over the things Patrick continues to do for him, the ways in which he shows David that he’s worth every last moment. Even when fears get the best of him and gets his reality all twisted. He’s lucky, so very fucking lucky, to have Patrick Brewer in his life and as his husband.

“Thank you,” David whispers, voice thick, “and not just for now but for…everything.”

Patrick squeezes his hand, just for a second, letting David know the words before he even says them. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

“And I was thinking,” Patrick continues tentatively, his thumb running along David’s knuckles, “that I don’t want you to feel like you’re alone when you spin out like this. It hurts me to watch, especially when you won’t say anything. It feels like I can’t do anything to help.”

David just stares at him.

“Maybe…we can find someone to talk to? Someone unbiased. For both of us.”

“Like marriage counseling?” David nearly gawks. Isn’t that something desperate couples do on their last leg? But, he steels himself. Patrick is probably right. There are better ways to cope, and it’s probably a good idea.

“Not necessarily. I don’t think we need that, but I think talking to someone would be beneficial.” 

He knows now that they’re not on the brink of something awful, but if it’s something that will help them understand each other better, then David supposes it’ll be good. “I guess we can look into it.”

Patrick moves their hands to rest on David’s thigh, and he smiles lightly. “In your own time.”

When they pull up to the Elm Valley Hotel, Patrick parks the car and turns to David, a hand on his shoulder as if to ease him.

“I’m going to go check us in. In the meantime, call your sister.”

David grumbles in minor protest, but Patrick gives him a  _ look,  _ and he knows he doesn’t have another option.

“I’ll be right back.”

David waits until the automatic doors slide shut behind Patrick to pull out his phone. His thumb hovers over Alexis’s name for two long, drawn-out seconds before he puffs out a heavy breath and hits  _ Call.  _

It rings. And it keeps ringing.

By the fifth ring, David’s convinced that she’s either ignoring him or too busy to answer, but just as he’s about to disconnect, she picks up.

“Hi.” Her voice is small, wavering even.

_ Good,  _ he thinks briefly,  _ she should feel bad. _

“Hi.”

“Um…how are you, David?”

“I’m…not great? Actually?” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You really ticked me off last week.”

“I know,” she sighs through the line. “I’m sorry.”

“I get that you were just trying to be nice or whatever, but you really fucking sent me through the wringer.”

He doesn’t wait for her reply, he just keeps going.

“I still don’t love the fact that you said my marriage was impressive, but I understand what you meant by it. And I’m sorry for yelling, too. But Alexis, I was already so scared early on that I was going to do something wrong when things started to get serious between me and Patrick. Four months came around and I was convinced that was it at that barbecue. But it turns out I was very wrong because four months turned to six, and we were saying ‘I love you.’ Then the whole thing with his parents and I was walking through some seriously uncharted territory.”

“I know, David,” she says again, her voice somehow impossibly smaller.

“Do you? Because you brought all of that back up on that car ride. And like I said, this is my relationship and Patrick’s my husband and I love him. I would never do anything to hurt him.”

“I know that, I’ve always known that,” Alexis replies in a scratchy voice, and David’s eyes are beginning to sting again. Because of course. “I’m so sorry, David.”

“I am, too.” He leans his head against the window, watching the automatic doors open and close with no sign of his husband yet. “I don’t want to go back to how you and I used to be.”

To his minor surprise, Alexis actually chuckles. “Yeah, neither do I.”

“I know you’re safe and responsible now and whatever,” he says, huffing a laugh, “but I still need to hear it from you. I can’t go months of radio silence only to hear from you on your own terms, you know?” 

Because his fears don’t just live in his marriage. They live in his family, too, and he still has the occasional nightmare that Alexis will call him in the middle of the night needing help.

“Yeah, I do.” A beat, then, “I’m safe, I promise.”

“I know you are,” he replies defiantly. “And you’re kicking ass in the process.”

“Hell yeah I am,” Alexis says, and she sounds so much more like her usual self that the knot in David’s chest that he didn’t notice before loosens. 

“Hey, you uh, left your mug in my car. The one Patrick got you.”

She chuckles. “Yeah, I left it there on purpose. I was kind of mad at you.”

“Figured,” David mutters. “You broke it, too.”

“Oh, no…”

“Don’t worry, I can glue it back together,” he replies. “It was a pretty clean break.”

“Thank you, David,” she whispers. “How’s Patrick?”

David spins his wedding band around with his thumb. “Hurting, admittedly. I’m sure he still is, we both are, but we talked and we still have a lot to talk about, but...He’s good.”

“I know he is.”

David’s breath hitches when she says it. 

Sure, he knows it, but sometimes he forgets that his whole family loves Patrick, too. His mother’s words ring in his ears,  _ He sees you. For all that you are.  _ The look of pure happiness on his father’s face when he first heard they were engaged. And Stevie, who, like Alexis, knew from the fucking beginning with that thumbs up.

The doors to the hotel lobby open, and Patrick steps out into the autumn sunlight, smiling at David through the windshield as he jogs back to the car.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, taking in his husband’s beautiful face, and soul, and everything about him. “He really is.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! You can find me [@maxbegone](maxbegone.tumblr.com) on tumblr! Come yell at me there!


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